


bread and oranges

by peachcitt



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/F, Light Angst, Possibly Unrequited Love, Pre-Canon, Time Skips, it's about the yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27522532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachcitt/pseuds/peachcitt
Summary: Before Emilie, Nathalie had never really been in love. She hardly even knew what love was.But then Emilie was throwing herself on top of Nathalie at three in the morning, alcohol riding her exhales, her teeth stained red with wine, and Nathalie felt something so awful and strong in her chest that she felt nearly certain that that was it - that was love.orit’s about the yearning
Relationships: Emilie Agreste/Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth, Emilie Agreste/Nathalie Sancoeur
Comments: 13
Kudos: 35





	bread and oranges

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy :)

To start with, Nathalie never had many friends. Maybe there had been a time when she was a child that she longed to be part of a distinct group, but that feeling had faded. Only God knows if she forced it down or if it had never been there in the first place.

And she was fine with that. 

By the time she went to university in London, she had very much dismissed the idea of ever being anything other than alone. She’d heard girls in her grade giggle and gleam about marriage or children, but any time she tried to imagine a future for herself, it was all just a sea of murky gray. She would live for now, and someday, she would die, and that would be that.

She might’ve lived her whole life like that if it wasn’t for Emilie.

Emilie Graham de Vanily - that was how she’d introduced herself when Nathalie walked into their dorm room for the first time. Nathalie had one suitcase trailing behind her, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. Emilie had no less than fifteen boxes cramped into the small room, and she was practically glowing gold, shaming the crappy fluorescent lights and the cloudy skies outside into silence.

She’d smiled at Nathalie, outstretching her hand, and Nathalie had taken it. Her first thought had been that they would most definitely never get along.

But she had been wrong.

It’s not like they were best friends at the start, of course. Emilie would go out with the multitude of friends she’d accumulated within two hours of arriving in London, and Nathalie would stay behind. They said good morning in the mornings and goodnight at night, and that was all it was at first.

Until Emilie started dragging Nathalie out of the room to go get lunch or dinner at the commons or coffee from the shop down the street. It’s not like this had never happened to Nathalie before - there were always girls too kind for their own good that would push and pull her with their smiles and pitiful looks. They always tired of it eventually.

But Emilie never got tired of grabbing Nathalie’s hand and pulling her out of their room. Their casual good mornings in the mornings turned into Emilie walking out of the bathroom and gesturing vaguely to her outfit and saying “hopeless isn’t it?” and chattering on over what earrings she should wear or if Nathalie was thinking of wearing her green hair scarf today because “really, Nat, it would look absolutely  _ darling  _ on you.” Their tired good nights turned into Nathalie climbing into bed and closing her eyes only to be woken up two minutes later by Emilie saying “oh, you know what made me  _ so  _ upset earlier?” and proceeding to talk for the better part of an hour, completely confident that Nathalie was bothering to listen - which, strangely, she was.

And all of that turned into Emilie dragging Nathalie into hanging out with all her friends. Nathalie hated that part. She always knew people thought she was boring and gloomy because they were right. She didn’t know how to make people laugh or smile like Emilie did, and she was always content with that fact until she was the fifth person in a group of four, staring at the abstract paintings hanging on the walls of cafes while Emilie and her friends talked as if it was as easy as breathing.

It was like that the first few times - the staring, the distant laughing, the growing pit at the bottom of Nathalie’s stomach - until Emilie noticed.

The thing about Emilie was that she talked a lot. Any moment they were together, there was hardly a space of silence. Nathalie was certain Emilie talked to herself when she was alone, and she’d heard her talk in her sleep on several occasions. 

Because of this, it was very easy for Nathalie to forget that Emilie listened, too. And watched. 

How she managed to be so observant while also having everyone’s eyes on her Nathalie never understood.

It had happened the fourth time Emilie made her hang out with her friends. Nathalie had been staring at a shoddy painting of a violet across the room, and she’d heard her name cut through the fog of her brain. 

“Nathalie’s always so  _ quiet.” _

She’d heard that many times before, almost all with the same inflection. ‘Quiet’ like it was an insult. Like it was something bad to be. 

Nathalie had felt her jaw clench, and she’d forced her lips into a grimace of a smile. She prepared herself to laugh it off like she always did - a dry sort of laugh that was just right enough to pass as real.

But then Emilie had grabbed her hand under the table and given it a squeeze. “She’s just tired, is all,” she’s said without missing a beat, her thumb rubbing over Nathalie’s knuckles. “All her professors are  _ horrid, _ you know. In fact, I heard…”

And she’d continued talking, like it was nothing at all. No one was looking at Nathalie anymore, and that lull in the conversation was completely forgotten about.

But Emilie was still holding her hand.

  
  


\---

  
  


Despite the fact that Nathalie had never imagined feeling comfortable living with any one person for an extended period of time, she ended up staying with Emilie throughout all of university. Every semester, it was a strange sort of thing - Nathalie would always ask if Emilie if she still wanted to be roommates, and Emilie would scoff as if it was the most ridiculous question she’d ever heard.

“Of course,” she’d always say, as if that answer was obvious. 

So they continued living together - they even got an apartment their senior year. And it was all fine, really.

But it was also a little strange.

With each passing semester, Emilie always seemed to get a little closer. That first semester, it was holding hands. The next, it was playing with her hair. The next, it was kissing her on the cheek. And it got to the point where Nathalie might’ve confused Emilie’s limbs for her own, if it wasn’t for the fact that Emilie’s skin was burnished gold while Nathalie’s own was far paler.

Before Emilie, Nathalie had never really been in love. She hardly even knew what love was.

But then Emilie was throwing herself on top of Nathalie at three in the morning, alcohol riding her exhales, her teeth stained red with wine, and Nathalie felt something so awful and strong in her chest that she felt nearly certain that that was it - that was love.

And when Emilie would fall asleep on the couch, their tiny box TV quietly playing the bad soap operas that Emilie loved, Nathalie would brush the golden hair from Emilie’s golden face, and she’d know. She’d just- 

_ Know. _

Sometimes, on the strangest nights, Nathalie thought that Emilie felt the same way. That she knew. It was nothing concrete - just the turn of her lips or the glimmer in her eyes. The way her fingertips would linger on Nathalie’s arm.

She’d lean her head on Nathalie’s shoulder, and Nathalie would smell her shampoo - fresh and vaguely citrusy - and Nathalie would feel it. That something she’d always heard everyone else talk about.

For the first time, she could imagine what her future looked like.

And it was filled with Emilie Graham de Vanily.

  
  


\---

  
  


Their quiet utopia didn’t last forever. 

Emilie auditioned for a big part in a movie back home in Paris, and she got it. Nathalie had found a good job in London that she liked decently enough, and it felt silly to move back home only for the sake of following a girl. 

Silly, even as it hurt to stay.

The night before Emilie’s plane left, Emilie pushed open the door to Nathalie’s room, eyes red, and Nathalie had scooted over on the bed, pulling back the blankets so she could lay down.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Emilie had said, and she’d laid her golden head on Nathalie’s pillows and reached her hand over, lacing their fingers together.

“Are you nervous about your flight?” Nathalie had asked, and Emilie shook her head.

“No.”

“Oh.”

For a moment, they had just stared at each other. It was one of those rare, charged silences. The kind where she knew Emilie had no idea what to say, and it was like the whole universe was holding its breath until it could hear her voice again.

“I’ll miss you,” Emilie said softly, and the universe exhaled.

“As you’ve said every day since you decided to move back to Paris,” Nathalie had tried to tease. Her smile felt a little hollow.

“But I just don’t think you know how much,” Emilie had replied quietly, a little hesitantly. “How much I’ll miss you.”

Nathalie had reached a bold hand over, cradling Emilie’s cheek. “I think I know.”

And that was all.

In the morning, Nathalie called a taxi, and they said goodbye at the threshold of their utopia. Emilie had taken Nathalie’s face in her hands, tired eyes searching, and then she pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I’ll call when I get there, alright?” she asked, and Nathalie had nodded. There was a lump in her throat, heavy and solid. She swallowed it down to brush the tears from Emilie’s eyes.

“Alright,” she said, and then Emilie was turning toward the taxi. 

Nathalie waited four steps, and then she closed the door. She didn’t think she could’ve handled it if she had to watch Emilie look back, and she didn’t think she could’ve handled it if she’d had to watch her get into the car without a spare glance. 

So she just didn’t watch.

She wiped her eyes and told herself to move on with her life.

  
  


\---

  
  


Keeping in touch was hard. They had both been busy, and tired, and overworked. It was easy for Nathalie to tell herself that those heavy feelings of love were a thing of imagination when Emilie was hundreds of miles and a few days of missed phone calls away.

Some days at work, a model would pass by - a flutter of golden hair, smooth limbs, and warm smells - and Nathalie’s heart would stutter. And then she’d swallow and duck her head down, pushing it all out of her head with mountains of duties and calendars and files.

And it worked.

Until she followed a lucrative job opportunity back home to Paris, working for an up and coming fashion designer. A stern looking man with steel gray eyes and a perpetual frown. Gabriel Agreste.

She had to meet Gabriel on her first day at a shoot; he’d refused to change his busy schedule in order to meet his new assistant. So she ducked between twittering makeup artists, sweating hair stylists, and half-made up models to find Gabriel standing stoically by the screens showing each new photo from the set. His hands were clasped tightly behind his back, and his eyebrows were furrowed - in concentration or frustration, it was unclear.

“Nathalie Sancoeur,” she introduced herself. 

Gabriel seemed to startle - just the slightest bristle of his limbs. Perfectly composed. He unclasped his hands, checking his high-end watch resting snugly on his left wrist. “Ten minutes early,” he noted. He spared her a glance. “Are you usually so punctual?”

“Always,” she replied. There was no visible change in his expression, but Nathalie was sure she saw a glimmer in his eye.

They spent the rest of the shoot in near silence. Nathalie figured they’d get along well.

The surprise came after the shoot, when Emilie Graham de Vanily showed up in the atrium of the building, green scarf hiding golden curls, large sunglasses pushed up to the top of her head, tray of three coffee cups held in one hand.

For a terrible, wonderful moment, Nathalie was certain that she was waiting for her.

And then Gabriel swept past her, making a beeline for Emilie as she laughed, reaching up and pinching his nose with her fingers. She was leaning in for a kiss when her eyes caught on Nathalie’s.

There was a moment of quiet, of waiting.

And then Emilie was shoving the coffee into Gabriel’s hands, bounding over to Nathalie and wrapping her into a hug so tight that it took her breath away. 

“Oh, darling,” she’d breathed, tucking her face into Nathalie’s neck - she smelled like bread and oranges, like all the things that Nathalie had missed so much she’d felt like she was dying - “how I’ve missed you so.”

They went out for lunch then. 

Gabriel had protested, saying that he needed his assistant, but Emilie had just shaken her head fondly and said “you’ll have her soon enough,” and she’d stolen Nathalie away from Gabriel’s frown and stony eyes like it was nothing.

“Isn’t this something?” Emilie had asked as they were finishing lunch. “It feels like fate, to have us be brought to each other again.”

Nathalie had smiled, and she’d looked down at the engagement ring resting prettily on Emilie’s ring finger.

  
  
  


\---

  
  


The wedding was a big event. It had to be - Emilie Graham de Vanily and Gabriel Agreste were big names in their own right. Together, they were an easy meal for the press and the hungry eyes of fans.

Nathalie had worked side by side with the wedding planner, rearranging Gabriel’s schedule to fit in cake testings and meetings about tablecloths and backdrops. She’d gone to Emilie’s dress fitting, and she’d watched Emilie’s eyes fill with tears of joy as she looked at herself, clad in an Agreste Brand white dress.

She’d watched the first dance, Gabriel’s face cracking into that gentle smile that he reserved strictly for Emilie. She’d watched Emilie take her shoes off after the first three songs, and she’d let her pull her out onto the dance floor to slow dance to that song they always used to dance to in university. 

“I’m the happiest I’ve ever been,” Emilie had whispered, wine making her breath sweet against Nathalie’s cheek. “Thank you, Nathalie. For being here.”

“Of course,” Nathalie said, aching. One of the flowers tucked into Emilie’s hair was coming loose, so Nathalie gently pressed it back into place. Emilie smiled her thanks, green eyes bright.

“You’re wonderful,” she said. “Just wonderful.”

“I…” She trailed off, found herself stumbling in the shining happiness of Emilie’s golden face. She swallowed. Made herself smile. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

Emilie kissed her on the cheek, giving her one last smile before twirling over to her new husband and draping herself over the back of the chair he was sitting in. He looked up at her, cold gray eyes warm, and he said something that made her laugh, one of his hands holding hers.

Nathalie looked away.

  
  


\---

  
  


The baby came soon after. A little golden boy, chubby and new. Nathalie was the one that got the call from the hospital, that had to rearrange Gabriel’s schedule so that he’d have time to meet his new son.

She’d followed Gabriel into the hospital room, smiled at Emilie, sweaty and tired and glowing, who was looking down at a swaddled lump of human. She watched the way Gabriel’s face had broken, the way he’d fallen to his knees beside the bed, the way he’d reached a shaking hand out, afraid and overwhelmed.

Later that night, Nathalie got to hold the little boy - Adrien. She cradled him in her arms, rocking him gently as Gabriel and Emilie slept.

They were entwined on the hospital bed, Gabriel’s nose tucked into Emilie’s hair, hands laced together. Gabriel’s suit jacket was draped over Emilie, and she’d buried her face in it.

And Adrien was in Nathalie’s arms, bright green eyes watching her ache. “Little one,” she said as she looked down at him, “you’re going to be loved, aren’t you?”

She traced a finger over his cheek, and he managed to break an arm free from the blankets Gabriel had swaddled him in just to wrap his tiny fist around Nathalie’s pointer finger.

Nathalie’s heart broke in a way that felt distinctly happy.

  
  


\---

  
  


The problems arose as Adrien grew up. Emilie and Gabriel had different ideas of what parenting and child rearing looked like - a glaringly obvious thing as Nathalie piled on events to Gabriel’s calendar and was instructed to do the same for Adrien’s calendar while Emilie began to turn down big breaks to spend more time with her son.

Family dinners began to be overrun by frosty looks and clanking silverware. And that child - that poor child - would look at Nathalie with his big green eyes, cheeks still round with childhood, and Nathalie would be at a loss of what to do. She would sneak him chocolate after dinner, when his parents closed themselves into one of their mansion’s various rooms to hiss and growl at each other where they thought their boy couldn’t hear.

And it was her job to tell him to do his homework, his studies in Chinese and classical history and English literature and French art history. And she would sit with him while he worked, little hands writing genius, and she would try her best to praise him until Emilie came along to make all the kind words seem genuine.

She would leave the mansion at night, and she would look up at all the empty rooms and dark windows, and she’d remember Emilie’s dream to have a little house bursting with laughter and love.

  
  
  


\---

  
  


When Emilie got sick, Nathalie moved into the mansion, and her job became full time. It was good money, but she couldn’t look at her paychecks without feeling sick to her stomach. She was Gabriel’s assistant during the day, Adrien’s nanny after dinner, and Emilie’s bedside companion after Adrien’s bedtime.

She was more tired than she’d ever been, and she was more aching, too.

She had to watch Emilie’s glow fade, bit by bit, until even the more distant dying stars shone brighter than her. It was heartbreaking, and it was wrong.

And Gabriel was near always gone. When Nathalie saw him during the day, there was always a storm brewing above his forehead, and sick desperation that never left his cold eyes. Emilie had stopped asking for him.

That last night, Adrien had fallen asleep curled up close to Emilie. He wasn’t the little glowing baby Nathalie had first seen him as - he was older now, the roundness of his cheeks beginning to give way to the sharp lines his father had given him. But he was golden, just like Emilie. Soft in the way that belied kindness.

“He’s gotten so big, hasn’t he?” Emilie whispered, gaunt, pale face smiling weakly down at the sleeping figure of her son. “My little boy.”

“He’s grown up,” Nathalie said, and Emilie’s bottom lip started to tremble. She traced shaking fingers through Adrien’s golden hair, a tear slipping down her cheek.

“He still has some growing left to do,” she said softly, her voice breaking, “but I won’t be able to see it.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.” She looked at Nathalie then, and Nathalie could see it - all that she’d chosen to ignore and look past for the sake of her own sanity. “I’m going, Nathalie. Soon.”

“No,” Nathalie said, swallowing down the heavy lump in her throat. “No.”

“There’s something I have to tell you,” Emilie said, a soft smile falling upon her lips.

“Tell it to me when you get better,” Nathalie insisted, and she knew she was being stupid, but she also knew that she couldn’t let herself indulge in the thought of a life without Emilie. She just couldn’t.

“My Nathalie,” she said gently, taking Nathalie’s hand in hers, frail, weak. “Always so stubborn.” It took a lot for her, but she lifted Nathalie’s hand to her lips, pressing a fluttering kiss to her knuckles. “I always did love that about you, didn’t I?”

Somehow, Nathalie fell asleep.

And when she woke up, Emilie was gone.

The bed was empty, except for Adrien, who was still sound asleep, arms wrapped tight around the pillow Emilie’s head had been resting on.

Cold morning light was seeping through the curtains, and Nathalie felt panic grip her stomach. She tore through every room, every closet, every crack of that godforsaken mansion. Emilie was nowhere to be found.

She found Gabriel standing in his office, hands clasped behind his back as he stared at the painting of Emilie he’d commissioned for their wedding - that golden one that Emilie had blushed over. 

“Where is she?” Nathalie asked, and Gabriel bristled, hands flexing.

“You woke up early,” he said, and Nathalie stalked into the room, only just restraining herself from grabbing the lapels of his crisp suit. 

“Where. Is. She?” she repeated, and he finally turned to her. His eyes were red from lack of sleep.

“There’s something you should know.”

  
  


\---

  
  


It was crazy, all of it. And Gabriel had looked insane that morning as he’d explained it all to her - his master plan. Perhaps what was crazier was the fact that she’d agreed.

She managed his schedules, helped him search for the elusive magic he was so certain existed. She watched his relationship with his son deteriorate until it was nothing short of nonexistent, and she thought about how that would make Emilie’s heart break. 

When Gabriel handed her the brooch, telling her that there was a chance she could get sick, she didn’t hesitate. He saw his eyes flash with satisfaction of her loyalty, and she smiled back at him, letting him think her loyalty lay with him.

The coughing, the dizzy spells - they were nothing. Nothing she couldn’t handle. Nothing she couldn’t endure.

Emilie was waiting, sealed away in her glass tomb, and Nathalie would do -  _ was doing  _ \- anything it took to bring her back.

**Author's Note:**

> a while ago i was in wildly awful mood and convinced myself that the only way to pull myself out was to begin a weird angsty gay love story between emilie and nathalie. i got 1500 words in and called it a day and then proceeded to forget about it until tonight. 
> 
> once again, i am in a wildly weird mood and school is kind of kicking my ass, so this is, like, self care. i hope this is as cathartic to read as it was to write. 
> 
> thank you for reading ily<3<3<3


End file.
